


Safe

by littleholyfires



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:42:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleholyfires/pseuds/littleholyfires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She gives no death knolls, does not come to him as a harbinger. She is lost, and in mourning. </p><p>Derek can understand that. He’s been in mourning for a long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season 3B. Special thanks to rosweldrmr for beta'ing for me!

Derek feels for her.

Out of every emotion he could possibly have towards her, that seems like the strangest one. He remembers when he set his betas after her, when he wanted to kill her. Back then, he had no other choice, or at least he believed he didn’t. She was that thing in the night that he couldn’t explain, that cruel edge of an _abomination_ that needed to be destroyed.

In the end, he was wrong. As he always seems to be. He felt nothing for her at first, other than a logical part of him that recognized her existence in Scott’s little wayward pack. She was the girl in love with Jackson, the girl who he mistakenly thought was the kanima. Past that, she was barely a blip on his radar.

And then his uncle needed a back-up plan. And suddenly, she became _something_. He still couldn’t explain her, still couldn’t put a name to what she was, not even when she crept into the train depot and blew wolfsbane in his face, not even when she’d dragged him into the burnt out husk of his old home and bled him dry. After swimming back into consciousness, witnessing the rise of his uncle under the worm moon, a swirl of emotions pooled inside his gut: shock, fear, and above all, a burning twist of rage that lanced up his spine and forced his claws out into the cold night air.

He didn’t trust her. But then again, he didn’t trust anyone. And it was easier to blame her than blame himself for being so weak, for failing as an alpha. Easier to point his finger at her and Allison when they came to him with bruises and patterns he thought weren’t there. Pareidolia, he remembers her calling it.

Just as with the bruises, there was more to her.

He couldn’t explain why her screams beckoned him to her. Just when he was ready to let go, to put this cursed town behind him, she brought him back. He remembers Cora staring at him in bafflement when he turned the car around, unthinking and with complete abandon, like a wolf rushing to the aid of an injured pack member.

Because that was what she was, he discovered. No matter what nebulous realm of humanity she may have resided in, she was one of theirs. And he realized that if she died, it would hurt to lose her, hurt like losing a limb.

And when they finally know, when they finally put a name to what she is, he feels the shift in her like a new wolf learning how to ride the influence of the full moon for the first time.

 _Banshee_. The wailing woman. The girl who knew too much.

Even with their strained connection, he was surprised to learn that she came for him. She’d piled into Stiles’ Jeep and drove all the way to Mexico with Scott and Stiles to rescue him from the Spanish hunters. Like he was someone worth saving to her, like she knew him, like maybe she could feel that thread between them as well. He wondered if she felt as confused by it as he did.

What confuses him even more is how she shows up at the loft after. She gives no death knolls, does not come to him as a harbinger. She is lost, and in mourning.

Derek can understand that. He’s been in mourning for a long time.

She asks questions he doesn’t have answers to. Questions about banshee lore, about what it means to be what she is. What that means for the rest of them still residing in Beacon Hills. She asks about his family line, how far it goes back. She comes with a laptop and he watches her work, keeps quiet until she sees him lifting a brow at her.

“I’ve never bothered looking at my own family tree before,” she tells him. “Knowing where I come from would be a good start, wouldn’t it?”

So, Derek feels for her. Because as rough as their beginnings were, he at least knows exactly where he comes from. He’s intimately familiar with the stories of his past, of his family’s history, has been properly taught and trained how to control himself and how to use his gift. Part of him aches for her, not only for her disorience, but for her perceived loss of identity. He can only imagine what it must feel like to think you’re one thing and turn out to be something completely different.

So he does the best he can and helps her. He explains werewolves to her in the way only a born one could, tells her where his parents came from and talks about moments in history that were most likely influenced by the supernatural. He finds a strange surge of pride and pleasure when he watches her genuine surprise and interest in it, feels warmth spread through his chest when he coaxes a laugh out of her when he jokingly tells her Gandhi was most likely an emissary.

“I want to be strong,” she tells him one day, while they’re pouring over their respective research. He peers over at her from his book, listens intently. “If Scott can turn his curse into a gift, why can’t I?”

“You can,” Derek replies. “You just don’t have all the pieces yet.”

“Sometimes I think about going to your uncle,” she says softly. If he were human, he wouldn’t be able to hear her. “I don’t know what I’d do or say. But he always seems to know more than he lets on.” She turns to him, eyes locked on his face. He feels his heartbeat speed up. “But I feel safer with you.”

And that, he realizes, it probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to him. “I’m not safe,” Derek says.

“I’ve spent a lot of time with the bad guys, Derek. I know what they look like,” she says, and he sees the spark of confidence still there, but softer somehow, quieter. “You’re not one of them. That’s safe enough for me.”

He spends more time than he should thinking about it. More time than he should thinking about her. When he’s up late at night and can’t sleep, he’ll open up his books, scour whatever information he has for hints of what she’s looking for. He goes beyond simple tales of his own history and delves into hers. When she returns days later, he hands her books on banshee lore, dogears the pages he thinks she’d find helpful or interesting.

Her mouth opens in quiet shock, a reverence to her that he’s never seen before. She looks genuine, he realizes. She looks like he’s given her something she hasn’t had in awhile, a direction in the endless sea of rattling voices that wake her in the night.

She looks like he’s given her a gift.

Her sudden movement is unexpected, and a part of Derek reels back. But she is not a predator, he’s come to realize. She’s something else entirely. “Thank you,” she whispers to him, and plants a soft kiss against his cheek. She smirks when she pulls away, biting your lip. “Sorry. I left a little…” she reaches up to his face and he grips her hand before she can touch him again.

“I got it,” he says, gently letting her pull free. “And you’re welcome.”

She smiles brightly, and that’s when Derek first recognizes he’s in trouble.


End file.
